


can't stop 'cause we're so high

by orphan_account



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Drug Use, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-08
Updated: 2013-01-08
Packaged: 2017-11-24 03:46:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/630029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Matthew and Matt get stoned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	can't stop 'cause we're so high

**Author's Note:**

> well this was fun to write. song: _starships_ by nicki minaj ([x](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3wzq6xzITnI))

Music sways in and out scratchy with static, the lights dimmed overhead, one bulb is shot, and it's where Matt finds him, clad in a red maple leaf apron and swinging his hips in offbeat motions along to some pop song playing on the radio. The smell of chocolate is strong and overwhelming, _brownies_ , he thinks. He could only wonder why Matthew’s making brownies so late in the evening. But Matt doesn't let his presence known just yet, muffles a yawn brought on by his barely-four-hour nap, and settles against the doorway of the kitchen, allowing himself the moment to watch the silly blond prance and wiggle his backside, singing as he does.  
  
♪ _I’m on the floor, floor!_  
 _I love to dance,_  
 _So give me more, more!_  
 _‘Til I can’t stand._  
 _Get on the floor, floor!_  
 _Like it’s your last chance,_  
 _If you want more, more!_  
 _Then here I am._ ♪  
  
As the song rolls to the chorus, Matthew spins in his socks on the tiled flooring, nearly falling and becoming well acquainted with the cold ground below, to his counterpart's concerned amusement. Matt almost goes to help him before he accidentally hurts himself, but Matthew rights himself just in time, gripping onto the counter like it’s his only lifeline, and through it all, Matthew still hasn't noticed him, eyes closed as he practically belts the lyrics to the ceiling—  
  
♪ _Starships were meant to fl~~~~y!_  
 _Hands up and touch the sk~~~~y!_  
 _Let’s do this one last ti~~~~me!_  
 _Can’t stop—!_  
  
 _We’re higher than a motherfucker—_ ♪  
  
The moment Matthew finally opens his eyes, everything makes sense. Matt has a brow raised when Matthew stands and blinks at him owlishly with those red ringed violet eyes of his for more than a few seconds until a wide crooked smile spreads slowly across his face; he gives a half wave.  
  
“Hey.”  
  
“Hey, yourself.”  
  
Matthew crosses the small space between them, arms held out as he brings the other into an embrace, pressing his nose against Matt’s exposed collarbone. Sweat and cologne still clings to his skin, Matthew inhales deeply the scent and sighs with a pleased hum, “Was gonna wake you up.”  
  
Matt settles one hand at the Canadian’s hip, brushes his thumb along the jut of it, and rests the other atop his head, eyes drifting to the countertop where a bag of green sits amongst other ingredients. Matt snuffs air through his nose.  
  
“Your terrible singing did a good enough job,” Matt gruffly replies. Matthew gasps, appearing clearly offended as he draws back from the hug, “Remember to keep it down next time.”  
  
“My singing is _flawless_ , thank you very much,” Matthew frowns; Matt simply drops his shoulders in a shrug. At the chime of the timer, Matthew turns on his heels, yanking open the oven to peer eagerly inside. Now, the logical thing one should do before sticking their hands into a hot oven to retrieve something is to slide on oven mitts; apparently Matthew, in all his giddy excitement, forgets this step, and Matt rushes him to the sink to run his hand under cold water to lessen the burn.  
  
“Are you always this careless when you’re stoned?”  
  
“Sometimes,” Matthew grins, hunches his shoulders and leans into the frowning man’s side, “I caught the house on fire once, no big deal,” he wiggles his hand free of Matt’s firm grasp, and idly picks at the peeling skin, “Oh, and then—” he pauses to collect his words, currently distracted by the flakes of skin, “—there was that time I hugged a polar bear. I almost lost an arm.”  
  
Matthew just continues to ramble on in that spacey sort of voice while Matt extracts the pan from the oven. Although the fact that they are nations and nations couldn’t die so easily gives him some peace of mind, Matt interrupts him midsentence, goes “ _Chickadee_.” to shush him up, and tells him to be more careful all the same.  
  
  
\--  
  
  
An hour passes and so does half a pan of brownies, and more than half of their common sense flies out the window within that time. Matthew is way too gone to actually stand up straight because every time he looks down, the floor just seems to get closer and closer to his face, and he feels like he’s falling, probably is, but Matt steadies him. Matt isn’t in any better shape, leaning against the wall for balance with a giggling Canadian cradled in his arms. Matt laughs in his hair, ignores the way his heart beats ten times fast. He tries to count the beats, one, two three, but they go too fast for him to keep up; it gets harder and harder to do each time. He gives up when he realizes it’s completely ridiculous anyway.  
  
They couldn’t have been standing there for more than ten minutes since they’ve left the kitchen; it just feels much longer, everything slowing down to a snail’s pace. We’re supposed to be doing something, Matt thinks dazedly, staring at the wall across from him. The radio is still on, having completely forgotten to turn it off before they left, and it’s some song that he can’t even recognize at the moment, but Matt sings along to it anyway. Matthew’s going on about something again, something that doesn’t make sense from what he can tell.  
  
“I thought we were gonna watch a movie,” when Matthew cranes his face up to look at him, Matt studies Matthew’s face, mere inches away from his own. The splatter of freckles across his nose is what really interests him; little tan pinpoints that dot the bridge of it, sloping over his cheeks. Matt leans in to play connect the dots with his lips. Matthew’s shoulders tremble, and laughter is heard. And Matt sees his eyes crinkle from how close he is. He goes to kiss those too, both the corners of his eyes, and Matt just thinks about how much he likes kissing the softness of his cheeks, how much he loves the way the other laughs, how big he smiles.  
  
Time passes, and they still haven’t moved. Eventually they do, but they find themselves in the fridge instead of in front of the TV.  
  
They reach the couch over tangles of limbs (because Matthew is too keen on latching himself to the other), and they sit, nestled against each other under a thick quilt, bags of chips and cans of Mountain Dew in their laps. The TV is going, and not completely sure what’s going on, they simply stare, concentration creasing their faces into identically blank expressions as they try to keep up with the action and dialogue as well as gorge themselves on snacks. Besides their occasional comments ( _“Woah, did you see that?” “So cool, so cool.”_ ), they sit in mutual silence; until a scene in particular takes place. There’s a woman in lingerie trying to seduce the main character, and it’s obvious that he likes it despite his protesting.  
  
“If love is blind, why is lingerie so popular?”  
  
Matt pauses before shoving another cheeto in his mouth, crumbs and cheese staining his lips, turning his heavily lidded eyes Matthew’s way. They then move skyward as he ponders the question, “Well..” he starts, “Well, it’s like this. Not everyone buys lingerie for someone else to see.”  
  
“That makes sense..” Matthew trails, though he doesn’t look too satisfied with the answer “.. _I_ buy lingerie for someone else to see.”  
  
“That’s not the point,” it takes a few seconds for that to sink in, “Wait, what?”  
  
“What’s that?” Matthew, a teasing smile twisting his lips, points to Matt’s face, whom looks on confused before he reaches to touch his face.  
  
“What’s what?” he probes at his face, “Don’t try to change the subject.”  
  
“No really, there’s something on your face,” movie and food temporarily forgotten, Matthew shifts over closer.  
  
“Where?” he is rather breathless because when did Matthew get so close?  
  
“Right,” their lips connect for a second, the warmth of Matthew’s tongue sweeping over his bottom lip sending shivers down the other’s spine, “ _there_ ,” he does it again and again, licking away bits of chip and cheese residue, and it’s more of a reflex when Matt brings him in for a proper kiss as Matthew moves to pull away. It starts off softly, little pecks and nips to each other’s lips that make them laugh, then long and languid, building up and giving way to something needy and desperate.  
  
Matt slides down until his back settles into the couch cushions, Matthew shoving the quilt and food to the floor without much thought or concern in favor of sinking between Matt’s thighs, chasing him down to claim his lips again. Matt arches into the weight of him, slipping his fingers beneath the Canadian’s shirt to touch and feel at warm, firm muscle, trails them up and over the bumps and ridges of his vertebrae.  
  
Everything gets too hot too fast with Matthew rocking into Matt’s hips, grinding him into the couch nice and slow and thorough, and Matt throws back his head and groans deep in his throat, a deep rumble that Matthew feels against his mouth as he lavishes the hollow of his throat. Matt clutches at the other’s back, scrambling to raise his hips for friction, rubbing against the denim of Matthew’s jeans his whole body shuddering. Every nerve feels ignited, too hypersensitive to withstand, and it’s driving them frenzied and hurried.  
  
“Oh _god_ ,” he croaks, mouth dry, and Matthew gasps against his neck, thrusting erratically, muffles his whining by biting into Matt’s collarbone. That alone gives Matt the final push he needs, soiling his jeans and trembling, breathless beneath Matthew, whom follows seconds behind.  
  
Matthew presses his weight fully against his sated counterpart, curls his arms around his neck and quite tiredly kisses him once more. With a sigh, he rests his head between the space of Matt’s neck and the couch. They lay in the aftershock of it all, hair mused and sweat clinging to their skin. Matthew yawns, and Matt, figuring they won’t be moving anytime soon, grapples for the abandoned quilt half fallen off the couch and throws it over them both. They shift and struggle for a more comfortable position before settling. It doesn’t take long for them to doze off to sleep wrapped snuggly around each other.


End file.
